


Obsession

by Macx



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>episode tag to Singularity</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsession

 

//"You ignore a tactical alert for this?"//  
Disbelief, outrage, slow anger.  
//"This is all a big joke to you!"//  
More anger and rising outrage.  
//"Give it a rest!"//  
Hostility and annoyance swung in those words directed at him. He felt himself bristle.  
//This isn't a bloody pleasure cruise! Without proper discipline on this ship, this mission is doomed!"//  
Satisfaction at the delivered blow. Anxiously waiting for the support from his commanding officer to put down the rebellious Yank.  
//"Why don't you go play soldier somewhere else?"//  
Snide remark, hitting a sore spot, riling him up even more. Anger turned into rage.  
//"If this were a military situation, you'd be taken out to be shot!"//  
Hissed, almost under his breath, rage barely hidden any more.  
Blood boiled.  
A weapon was drawn.  
Blue eyes widened as it was aimed at him.  
And all he felt was satisfaction; pleasure; the insane wish to shoot this man.  
And the trigger finger twitched.

 

Malcolm Reed's eyes snapped open and he swallowed once before closing his eyes once more, an expression of pain etchedinto his features.  
Not again.  
Damnit! Not again!  
The dreams had been recurring in the last twenty-four odd hours he had been released from Phlox to go back on duty. He had tried to sleep several times, but each time the aggressive encounter on the bridge had flooded his exhausted mind, demanding his attention, rushing adrenaline through his sleep-starved body, and leaving him with a pulsing headache later.  
This was no different. Only that this time he had dreamed the end. He had shot Trip out of rage, out of the insanity of the moment, an argument gone so totally wrong.  
He had shot his lover.  
Over a childish matter.  
Malcolm sat up and rubbed is eyes, feeling the headache again. It throbbed behind his eyes, taking sleep from him, leaving him exhausted.  
He sighed and padded over to his terminal, switching it on. He had gone through his log entries before deciding to try to sleep again, so why not continue the nightmare and see what he had written down throughout the time he and the rest of the crew had been under the influence of the radiation.  
He was only now getting to the good parts.  
His mouth twisted into a grimace of a smile.  
Malcolm looked at the individual words forming sentences, forming paragraphs, flowing together into a report and log entry.  
A log entry from hell.  
There was no other explanation for it.  
The words 'incapable', 'disastrous conduct', 'unbecoming of an officer of his rank',  'childish behavior' and 'embarrassing as well as shameful' stung in his eyes, burning them. None of them could ever be connected to Commander Trip Tucker and he would never have used them. Never.  
But apparently he had.  
Reed sank back in his chair and sighed deeply, desperation forming in his mind. He had written these entries, each one of the almost four dozen. The words were clear cut, harsh, criticizing, and analytical to a point where it was no longer healthy. Mixed into his almost hateful description of how 'Mr. Tucker seems to be sucking up to the captain' were security reports, lists of what had to be changed, analysis of the current procedures and the sub-standard of the crew, as well as a security check of each senior staff member.  
He rubbed his face and wished the headache would recede. Phlox had told him that the radiation had little other effect than scrambling his brain completely, and the headache was one of the symptoms still prevailing. Most of the crew was already feeling better, but Malcolm's headache was persisting.  
He tiredly massaged his temples and let his head sink forward. His elbows connected with the table top and the fingers continued to knead the aching area.  
Obsessive behavior.  
T'Pol had briefly informed them that the whole human crew, as well as one Denoblian doctor, had acted obsessively, each turning more and more aggressive.  
Words flooded his mind. Words spoken in anger, outright hatred, and such self-satisfaction that it made him sick. Memories of the past two days were rather sketchy in places, but some were too clear for his liking.  
Like the situation on the bridge. The images were crystal clear, all his emotions were remembered, and it came in surround sound.  
//"If this were a military situation, you'd be taken out to be shot!"//  
He had not only fought with a commanding officer, he had attacked his lover.  
And he remembered.  
Malcolm had reviewed what he had changed in the weapons system, the tactical alert, as well as the access codes for the senior officers, and he was horrified. Yes, he was always worried about security; it was his bloody job! But this had gone far beyond that. It had reached a point where everyone had conspired against him, had turned into the enemy, and had been viewed with something bordering to hostility.  
Even his lover and partner.  
Trip.  
His enemy.  
His competition for the captain's attention.  
He laughed dryly. As if ever.  
While Trip's obsession with the captain's chair could be viewed from a humorous angle, something Tucker could be teased with, Malcolm saw nothing funny in his actions. Hoshi had obsessed about cooking the perfect meal. Yes, humorous, too. The crew had almost rebelled, but an empty stomach couldn't be compared to someone turning a peaceful ship into a flying battle station. Archer's obsession with the introduction to his father's biography was harmless to Reed's security code changes, complete with running around fully armed.  
Phaser set on kill.  
That had terrified him the most.  
No one was chastising him for his actions. No one was making any entries into his personal file. No one demanded a damned good explanation. Because it had affected everyone.  
"But I was ready to kill anyone who even looked at me the wrong way," Malcolm whispered.  
And he dreamed of doing exactly that. He dreamed of killing Trip Tucker.  
He switched off the screen and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. He was exhausted, the pain was still lingering, and what he had read was highly disturbing.  
Laying back on his bed, Malcolm stared at the ceiling. The log was a mirror of his soul, he mused. Something had been brought to the surface, something… terrible. Something dangerous. Someone who was so anal about security protocols and weapons and alerts, Malcolm couldn't believe he had lived this long with this attitude – or become an officer on Starfleet's first deep space exploration vessel.  
Trip had once, in a private moment, jokingly remarked that Malcolm sometimes looked like he had a broom up his ass, but that had been a joke. Right? Right?!  
//"Don't call it battle stations. Think of something less aggressive."//  
Gently chiding words. A suggestion.  
But now, in the light of day so to speak, they came back to haunt him even more.  
Aggressive.  
He was aggressive.  
Reed sighed deeply and sat up again, agitation flooding through him. He didn't want to be this person; he didn't want to be viewed as an anal retentive obsessive. He wanted to be a good officer. Okay, he had learned that not everything had to be done by the book, and thanks were due for one Trip Tucker, but now something fearsome had surfaced. Something horrifyingly dangerous.  
"Damn!"  
The door chime alerted him to a visitor and he sighed again. A quick glance at the clock told him it was late afternoon. His track of time had been lost with the random sleep pattern -- the attempts to sleep anyway…  
"Come."  
It sounded almost listless.  
His visitor was none other than his lover. Trip smiled at him, the smile faltering slightly as he took in Malcolm's downcast expression.  
"Hey, Mal. I just finished with the Cap'n's chair. Thought you might want to be on the bridge when he christens it, so I dropped by…. What's wrong?"  
Malcolm hung his head and gazed at the floor. "I'm an obsessive, aggressive, anal retentive, highly dangerous man who shouldn't be entrusted to safeguard this ship and its crew."  
Tucker blinked, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. "Run that by me again?"  
"I reread my log entries and some of the already prepared reports I wrote while we were under the influence of the radiation. If this had gone any longer, I could have shot somebody, Trip!"  
"If this had gone any longer, we all would've died," Trip replied wryly. "T'Pol got the ship out just in time."  
"I was running around armed! The phaser was set to kill, Trip! To kill!" Desperation leaked into his voice.  
And I was ready to kill you. That moment on the bridge, if Archer hadn't interfered… I would have. I know I could; I know I'm capable of it. I can kill another person. Good Lord… I'm a dangerous animal. I should be in lock-up…  
"We all did things we now regret."  
"Of course, like trying to install cup holders in the captain's chair," Malcolm replied sarcastically. "Or cooking the perfect lunch for the crew."  
"Shimer down in the labs tried to create some kind of indestructible bio-weapon. She din't get very far, but if she had finished, we would've died, too."  
"She was making something possibly fatal, I already had the whole armory at my command, Trip!" Malcolm insisted. "I could have killed us within a second."  
I could have killed you. In my dreams, I do. What does that say about me? I probably need professional help. I should be in restraints. Under guard. Heavy guard…  
Tucker sat down next to his distraught lover, but he didn't touch. Malcolm was glad he didn't. He couldn't have tolerated it right now. All he could think of was what his vivid imagination presented him with: a dead Trip Tucker, killed by his hands.  
"You were under the influence of a nearly fatal radiation, Mal," Tucker said calmly, seriously. "We all were, and we all did a lot of dangerous things. Some more dangerous than others. No one will hold it against you."  
"But if radiation did this, what stops something else from influencing me like this again?"  
"Nothin'. There're no guarantees. We're explorers, Mal. We take risks."  
So simple. But it wasn't, was it? There wasn't just 'simple'. Simple was for everyone but him. He had to be 'complicated'.  
Anal, obsessive, fixated, manic….  
Malcolm cut the inner voice down in mid-stride as synonyms piled in his head.  
"We all take chances, and sometimes, somethin' happens that's out of control. Like this," Trip added.  
Malcolm closed his eyes, still tense, still unable to let it go. "I made a total ass out of myself," he whispered.  
Trip slid off the bed and crouched down in front of his lover, looking up into the haunted, gray eyes. His hands touched Reed's knees lightly, barely even there.  
"We all did," he insisted. "Some in more ridiculous ways than others. Mal, I find it much harder to live down tryin' to improve the captain's chair than obsessin' over Enterprise's safety." His hands squeezed gently. "Let it go, love. Please. Everythin's fine."  
"I can't," he murmured. "Not just yet. Not… yet…"  
Not ever. How can I ever forget what I am when I'm still it?  
"Then let me help," Trip whispered.  
Malcolm listened to the lure of the other man's soft, dark voice. It promised safety and forgiveness, something he was hard pressed to find anywhere else.  He wanted nothing more than to just purge his memory of the events. While he couldn't remember every detail, reading his reports had jogged some of his memories.  
"We all behaved like our worst selves," Trip soothed gently, fingers massaging tense muscles. "No one can be proud of what happened. Phlox would've killed Travis with his examinations; he would have dissected him. As a doctor, this is a lot worse for him."  
Malcolm sighed.  
"And while I agree that you're something of an obsessive, even anal son-of-a-bitch, Mal, you're also a very responsible officer. The cap'n knows, I know, the whole damn crew knows. We've got to get over this."  
Malcolm caught the strong hands and their fingers entwined. "Trying to," he confessed.  
"Good."  
Reed smiled at the single word of approval. Two pairs of eyes met and Trip grinned lightly.  
"Can you forgive me for attacking you?" Malcolm suddenly asked.  
Trip's tilted his head. "You mean that little squabble? Hell, Malcolm, that was hardly an attack."  
"Because the captain intervened."  
"Well, yeah."  
"I could have killed you, Trip. I know I'm capable of it. I could have hurt you , killed you, over a stupid little argument." Malcolm felt himself tremble. "Just like that."  
"I doubt that, Mal."  
He shook his head. "I wasn't myself. You said it yourself."  
"Well, yes, you weren't. No one was." Trip smiled wryly. "But it's no use thinking of the possibilities, the what ifs. What happened, happened. We got through it."  
"And it it happens again?"  
"We deal with it again."  
Reed sighed.  
Silence remained between them for a long time. Trip stayed in his position, kneeling in front of the seated man, hands on is knees and rubbing his thighs in a slow, calming motion.  
Malcolm felt himself relax.  
"You know, I felt rather self-satisfied that he dressed you down," he mumbled after a while.  
"Oh really?"  
Reed looked into the smirking blue eyes of his lover.  
His reply had to wait as the comm alerted him to someone wanting to talk to Lieutenant Reed.  
"Reed here."  
"This is the captain. Could I talk to you in my ready room, Lieutenant?"  
Malcolm felt something inside of him form a hard knot. "Of course, sir. I'll be there right away."  
He turned and looked straight at his partner.  
"You'll be fine, love. He probably just wants to thank you," Trip told him.  
"I highly doubt that."  
And with that, Malcolm left his quarters.

But the captain really just commended him on his tactical alert. In his own way. There was some light criticism, mostly about the noise of it. 'A bag full of cats' as Trip had called it. Now, without the influence of the radiation, Malcolm had to agree. It did sound rather horrifying. But he could change that. Easily.  
And the tactical alert, the part where the weapons automatically went online, had now become a standard procedure. Pride was not even the right word to start describing what he felt. It was so much more and a large part was coupled with relief.  
Sitting in a corner of the mess hall, eating a normal dinner – Chef was back on his own two feet and had taken back his galley – Reed tried to relax. A part of him was still rather highly strung.  
"This seat taken?" came a soft drawl and he looked up, feeling his features break into a warm, welcoming smile.  
"No. Please, sit."  
Trip grinned and plopped gracefully into the second chair. "How ya doin'?"  
"Better," he answered truthfully.  
"But not perfect yet?"  
"Not really, no."  
Trip chewed on his sandwich. "You off tonight?"  
Malcolm shot him a questioning look. "Yes," he answered slowly.  
"Me, too. Wanna do something together?"  
A raised brow. "Like for instance what?"  
A suggestive smile answered the raised brow. "Oh, I think we can come up with somethin'. I got an idea or two already…"  
"Oh really."  
"Really."  
"Then I'm looking very much forward to your suggestions, Mr. Tucker."  
Trip grinned broadly and licked some mayonnaise off his fingers. Slowly. Almost lasciviously. Malcolm smiled a little private smile, only meant for one person.  
"See you later," he said softly and rose, brushing by the other man.  
Hip against shoulder. Just a minute contact. Nothing that could be seen as obvious if anyone had looked.  
No one had.  
Trip's eyes held a lot of promise as they met Reed's. Hungry. Hot. For a moment devouring him.  
Later, Malcolm reminded himself as he disposed of his tray. Later.  
But damn, somewhere down south, someone didn't want to listen.  
So much for always being in complete control of himself, he thought with amusement and left the mess hall. There was no such thing and with Trip Tucker, doubly so.  
And Malcolm was enjoying every single moment of it.


End file.
